Happy Anniversary
by Capt. Margaret O. Waveswift
Summary: A mistake ruins a special day. SpockMcCoy.


Warning: This is SLASH! It is non-explicit, but it is there. You have been warned.

Special thanks to Tempest, Queen of all things Spock/McCoy, for the beta job and without whom this story would probably never have seen the light of day.

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Drunk. He is drunk.

He was supposed to be home hours ago. I have been fighting worry and reminding myself that Leonard is an adult fully capable of taking care of himself. The hospital reported that he had already left, but perhaps he had been delayed by traffic. Leonard hates to transport anywhere. I had speculated that perhaps something had come up; some emergency had prevented him from returning to me or communicating with me for a time.

But no, he is drunk.

Today is our anniversary, a day that is supposed to have great significance to humans who engage in a relationship of a romantic or intimate nature. I find that, illogically, unexpectedly, it is a day that also has significance for me.

"Spock!" he staggers through the front door where I met him and throws his arm around my shoulders. He is not gentle and he is far too loud. "Spock, my love! Today is our anna- annifer- today is the day we finally got together!" His speech is slurred and his breath and skin reek of the alcohol he has been consuming. "Well, y'know, two years ago, I mean. Not today-today. Defni'ly not today-today." He nods firmly, as though he has just made a point that is most profound.

"Yes, Leonard. I am fully cognizant of the fact that today is the commemoration of the day that we began our relationship. I confess to a certain surprise that you recall such a fact at this time, however." I have slipped my arm around his waist and am half-coaxing, half-carrying him toward the stairs and bed. Clearly he is in no condition to do anything other than go to bed, and unfortunately he will only be sleeping. I had hoped that tonight would be special…but I see that it is not to be.

We pass the kitchen and he tries to veer toward it, throwing both of us off balance. "C'mon, Spock! Let's have a drink! A cel'brat'ry drink! We deserve to celebrate." He whirls, suddenly amorous, to press sloppy kisses across my face and neck. The smell and the wash of his chaotic and intoxicated thoughts are dizzying, nauseating, nearly overwhelming me. A layer of cloth is sufficient to provide some barrier, but there I have no defense against skin-to-skin contact. I have become unused to shielding myself from him, but now I almost wish, illogical, irrational as it is, that I had not let all of my defenses lapse. But…if I had not, we probably would not have become what we are. I cannot regret that.

"I think you do not need to do any more 'celebrating', Leonard. You should go to bed."

He pulls himself from my grasp, standing shakily on his own feet. "Y'all never let me have any fun! Ah am sick of being confined! Ah give up everythin' for you, Spock! No meat, no alcohol, no friends, no fun! Well Ah'm tired of it!" His accent has become more pronounced than I have ever heard it.

"Leonard," I say, extending a hand toward him. "You are not well. Come to bed. We can discuss this in the morning."

"Ah am perfectly well!" he protests. "Ah jest need a little coffee. And Ah am not going to be put to bed lahk a recalcitrant child!" He pronounces the words carefully, exaggerating the accent on the more easily said words. He spins around to march indignantly into the kitchen, but he overbalances and trips over his own feet. I am at his side in an instant, catching him, supporting him.

Is it true? Have I deprived him? Have I forced him to make changes that he did not want, that he was not ready to make? Have I hurt him without realizing? Surely not. Surely I would have detected such a thing. Even without a formalized marriage bond, I remain sensitive to his thoughts, his emotions, especially through touch. And Leonard has ever been physically demonstrative.

"Come," I whisper, lifting him to his feet. Again, I begin to coax him toward the stairs. We make it up two, but Leonard's uncertain balance is converted to momentum that takes us back to the bottom. We try again, and this time we are able to make it up five, but again we find ourselves going backward. It is a great temptation to simply pick him up and carry him to our bed, but I am uncertain that this would be wise. His accusation stands between us and I am hesitant to overstep any but the most basic of bounds. And…I do not wish to see the preparations I had made, the candles waiting to be lit, the rose petals I had scattered. Romance is very important to the doctor, despite his gruff exterior. He needs it, and I…I find that, despite the sentimentality, despite the blatant emotionalism of such gestures…I am not averse to making them.

After a moment's consideration I decide to stop fighting gravity and help him back to the couch. It is not as comfortable as our bed, but it will suffice. It is the work of mere minutes to settle him in a horizontal position with a blanket tucked gently around him. He has, surprisingly, refrained from resisting, and I wonder if his earlier outburst was not simply a moment of belligerence brought on by his indulgences. But, that may be incorrect. After all, alcohol lowers the inhibitions, perhaps he has serious complaints. I cannot help but wonder why he would not voice them to me. It is illogical to feel pain over what may be only speculation, I remind myself firmly. I place the waste bin next to the sofa and set a glass of water on the coffee table which is within arm's reach but not close enough that he might injure himself rolling off the couch.

With a soft sigh I sit on the solid wood of the low table and watch my lover's face. He has fallen asleep, probably due the soporific effect of the alcohol in his system. I do love him, I know this. Emotional, irrational as it is, I cherish the time we spend together and I find that I cannot envision the future without him.

Is this what my father felt for my mother? Is this the force that allowed the implacable Sarek to set aside cultural and familial expectations and wed my human mother? It is unlikely that I will ever know. We are no longer estranged, but the relationship between my father and I remains a distant one. The odds that we might ever engage in such a whimsical and personal conversation as 'why he married Mother' are so low as to be negligible.

Leonard would tell me that I am being pessimistic, if he could hear me now. I permit myself a tiny smile as I reach out to him, brushing my hand over his face and along his cheek before letting it drop back to my knee. His thoughts are quieter in sleep. Leonard would, correctly, point out that my logic is uncertain where it concerns my father. He would tell me that Sarek once said that his logic was also uncertain where it concerned me. I sigh.

I do not feel like sleeping, the usual activity for the hour. Perhaps I will meditate.

Rapidly and with the ease of long practice, I make the appropriate preparations and settle myself in the traditional pose. I set aside a portion of my awareness to listen for Leonard, so that I will be able to assist him if he has need of me; then I take a deep breath and begin the disciplines.

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Oohh, my head…I take a slow careful breath through my nose. The air is warm and does nothing to ease the pain in my head or to calm the tempest raging in my belly. Cautiously, I open my eyes. It takes me several moments to recognize where I am. The view is nothing like the one I normally see from my side of our bed, but after a time I realize that I am instead lying on our sofa. What happened? I close my eyes again, trying to remember, but instead I find myself drifting off and my eyelids don't seem to want to cooperate when I try to open them again.

A sound wakes me and I jerk upright, thinking that there is some emergency that requires my attention as a doctor. It is bright now and after a second or two I realize that there is no emergency, that I am not on the _Enterprise_ anymore, but at home. In the home I share with my lover, Spock. But, why am I sleeping on the couch? And why do I detect the fading remnants of a headache the size of the _Enterprise_ herself? The sour taste in my mouth reminds me. Oh no.

Yesterday was our anniversary, and I ruined it. We had planned to have dinner together.

I had run into some old friends and we had started talking. We hadn't seen each other in years. A quick cup of coffee wouldn't delay my rendezvous much. But that quick cup of coffee had become another, and then it had turned into snacks and drinks, and before I was fully aware of it, the evening seemed to have disappeared into a haze of reminiscences. I had stood up in a panic, exclaiming that I had to get home. This had prompted some good natured teasing and an explanation of exactly what was awaiting me. They were thrilled and insisted on a congratulatory round. Then I had to explain how we had met, which necessitated explaining how we had ended up as a couple, which meant that other stories had been told and soon it was even later than before.

I let my head fall into my hands. Oh no. I had vague memories of coming home and yelling at Spock. I groaned. I seemed to recall accusing him of preventing me from living my life the way I wanted. Which is completely ridiculous because the single most important thing in my life is him. I would give up anything and everything for him.

A noise at the door rouses me. It is probably Spock. He makes it a habit to go for a quick run every morning and clearly today is no exception. Startled, I stand and bolt for the stairs. Perhaps I can hide in the shower, but I cannot bear the thought of seeing him right now. Will I glimpse disappointment in his dark eyes? Or will I see nothing? Will I be confronted with his Vulcan mask of indifference and cool logic? I could not bear that.

I am at the door to our bedroom now, and I freeze at the threshold. There are candles, wilting rose petals, the covers are turned down invitingly. Spock had clearly had plans beyond dinner last night. To be truthful, I had been looking forward to those plans, counting on them, in fact; there was something I had wanted to discuss...But instead I had stayed away to have drinks with others.

Is that him on the stairs? "Leonard?" I hear his voice. Panicking again, I turn away from the sight of our bedroom and flee to the guest room. It has a shower. Perhaps I will manage to drown myself.

"Leonard?" I hear again. He is nearer now, on the same floor. He knocks on the door, but I know he will not open it without an invitation. He is always very careful about such things. Ever since he learned of what his mirror did in that other universe…

I find that I cannot speak; I can only stare at the door that separates us. I picture him standing on the other side, waiting, only to turn away and begin his daily preparations. I don't blame him. We both have work to do and I…well, I would not blame him in the least if he were furious with me. Were our positions reversed…but then they never would be. Spock is my better half in so many ways. It would never occur to him to disappear or fail to show up when we had made explicit plans.

I rub my hands over my face. I would have to apologize. I am not the sort of man who can't admit when he is wrong, but still I dread that moment. What damage have I done this time?

I stand under the spray long past the time when I normally would turn it off. It began to cool some time ago, but I want to make sure that Spock has time to leave. Our usual ritual of kissing goodbye will have to be omitted today.

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Clearly Leonard was up. He was not on the couch when I returned from my daily exercise. I heard the shower in the guest room, but it did not turn off after the usual 8.7 minutes. It did not turn off after even fifteen minutes, nor after twenty. I made breakfast for two, but Leonard did not come down. I waited as long as I could, but at last I had to leave or risk being late to work.

It would be unacceptable to allow my personal life to interfere unnecessarily with the discharge of my duty. Leonard would understand this. Would he not?

His avoidance of me, however, is painful. I must force myself to seriously consider the possibility that Leonard is unhappy with me. Unhappy with our relationship. I find myself strangely reluctant to return home. Perhaps I will work a little later than usual tonight.

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Spock isn't home yet. Why isn't he here? Maybe he just got hung up somewhere, or caught in traffic, or maybe some fascinating detail caught his attention. But any minute now he will come through the door, just as he always does.

Nervously I glance around at the dining room. The lights are dimmed. Spock's favorite dishes are waiting to be dished up. His favorite fruit juice is chilled to the preferred temperature. I have replaced the rose petals and added a stick of incense to the brazier in the corner of our bedroom. All is ready for him.

I adjust my collar again. I even know roughly what I'm going to say when I apologize. I'll tell him how sorry I am, how wrong I was, promise that it will never happen again, grovel if necessary. Please, God, don't let him ask me to leave…I love him.

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I take a deep, fortifying breath before I enter our house, and then chide myself for the emotionalism of it. I do not seem to be listening; however, as a part of me is quietly worrying over the thought that it may not remain _our_ house.

I step in cautiously and look around. Soft music is playing. The living room is dark, but I see dim lighting in the dining room. I set aside my things and shed my coat before walking toward the doorway. Leonard is pacing and I interrupt him, his face lifting to mine.

For a moment, it is twisted with trouble, worry clearly defining his expression. Then all of that is cleared away and he smiles at me. "Spock!" he exclaims. He seems joyful, but there is an undercurrent of unease. Has it all been an act? I have learned not to underestimate Leonard, but I was not aware that he possessed such consummate acting skill.

"Leonard," I say evenly. My next inhalation brings me a familiar odor. I sniff again, is that—it is! My lover has gone to some trouble this evening. But to what purpose?

"Uh-how was your day?" he asks.

"Acceptable," I reply, raising one eyebrow. "Yours?"

"Oh, you know me," he says. A definite tremble insinuates itself into the last word. "The same as it always is," he laughs, but the sound is hollow.

"Indeed?" I cannot help that it comes out as a question. I cannot help that I am questioning whether or not I truly know him. I thought I did. Two years as lovers, so many more as friends, and yet there is the possibility that I was wrong. Wrong in so many ways. I wish, suddenly, that my logic were more certain where Leonard is concerned. Perhaps then I would know with some definition.

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This is what I was afraid of. He is just standing there, unmoving as a Georgia pine and cool as Aunt Sadie's sweet tea on a hot day. I want to step toward him, to take his hand in my own, to kiss him, but I do not know that I would be welcomed. If he rebuffed me, I might shatter into a couple hundred pieces. I have known him, loved him, so long, but I feel as though I am looking at a stranger. So, we stand in silence.

No, I won't let it end this way. I won't let him just drift away without knowing how truly sorry I am. I have seen the flash of emotion in his eyes, and I won't let him get away with this aloofness now!

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Suddenly, with the characteristic unexpectedness that he delights in, Leonard drops his pose of uncertainty. He steps forward purposefully. "Spock, I want to talk to you."

"I will listen," I assure him, inclining my head.

He nods jerkily. "I…I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I didn't mean to hurt you, but…well…" he stutters to a halt. I brace myself for some form of rejection. Perhaps the cliché but ever-popular human phrase, it's not you, it's me. Or perhaps he will use some other colloquialism, the wording matters not when the intent is the same.

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Why isn't he responding? Spock, usually so tolerant, seems to be closing himself off even more. Why? Is what I've done that wrong? Have I hurt him that badly? I know that missing an anniversary is a serious thing, but I didn't realize that he would take it quite this much to heart. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. What happened to my planned words? Where is my usual eloquence? Hell, I'd settle for bare coherence!

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He stares at me in silence. I do not wish to wait for rejection. I promised to listen, but he does not speak. Very well. If he cannot say it, I will. "Leonard, perhaps we have made a mistake. I realize that our relationship is, to a certain degree, unconventional. Perhaps we should not have pursued it." I pause. "We should consider this possibility." I have just ripped my own heart in half, I know. I will not apologize for the emotion of that statement. It is true, though not literally.

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I feel as though the air has been stolen from me and the ground has vanished from beneath my feet. A mistake? He thinks this, us, everything, is a mistake? I can feel the blood draining from my face as I grip the back of a chair for support. A mistake? I had wanted to marry him. Or bond to him, or whatever it was that Vulcans did. I wanted to make sure that he knew that I was his for as long as he would have me, that I would relish the thought that he was mine as well. And now, this.

It couldn't have been just last night, then. Spock is as passionate, as emotional as the next fellow, but he never manages to totally let go of his precious logic. If he thinks that we should separate, then he probably has a list of reasons as long as his arm. I force my numbed brain to come up with a response, force my unresponsive lips to pronounce it. "If you think that's best," I gasp.

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Leonard has become very pale. This does not appear to be simple shock that I have anticipated his request. He looks ill. Could it be some lingering effect of the alcohol he consumed last night? At last he speaks, but it is not what I expected. Not at all. If _I _think it's best? I certainly do not think so. But, is this not what he wanted? "You disagree?" I ask, not daring to recognize the sudden existence of hope.

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"I…" I looked up at him. He is still cool, still calm, still terribly collected. I am seized with the sudden impulse to tell him that I do disagree. I think he's completely wrong, way off base, that he couldn't be any more mistaken if he tried. Instead I say, "Dinner's going to get cold."

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My hope has died a rapid and painful demise. We are eating in silence. It has not escaped me that Leonard has not properly responded to my question, but why would he remain silent if he did not wish for our separation? The silent meal gives way to cleaning up the kitchen. Leonard disappears the instant it is done, slipping away upstairs. I wonder if he is packing. I linger downstairs a little longer. I do not wish to face the reality of our failed relationship, but there is nothing to be done here.

At last I mount the stairs and cross the hall. My ears, which Leonard is forever teasing me about, do not detect the sounds of belongings being placed into a bag. Instead, I hear something quite different. I believe that Leonard is crying. It is not an action that he typically permits himself. For all he champions emotion, Leonard greatly fears being perceived as weak. I am still uncertain why he considers himself so unworthy, but I am reminded of the fact from time to time.

I realize that I have paused on the stairs and start forward again. I do not allow myself to hesitate again as I walk into the bedroom we have shared for nearly a year now. As I draw even with Leonard, who is sprawled on the bed, face buried in one of the pillows, I note the scent of my favorite incense and of crushed rose petals. Those that I scattered yesterday have been replaced. Why would Leonard do so if he had planned to say goodbye to me? It is not logical.

Drawing nearer, I place a gentle hand on the back of his shoulder. "It will be all right," I murmur. He does not reply immediately, but his sobs cease. After a minute he sits up and I allow my hand to drop back to my side. His face is reddened and blotchy in places, but he is no longer crying.

"Why?" he asks me. I confess I do not know to what he is referring and ask for clarification. "I know it can't be just last night. Not with you. What have I done that is so wrong? What did I do to make you want to leave me?"

I draw back in surprise. "I do not wish to leave you," I say almost before I realize that I am going to.

"Then why would you suggest that we had made a mistake?" he asks. "Why would you want to consider the possibility?"

I paused. "I wished to spare you. You seemed to have trouble saying it."

"Spock," he gripped my hand urgently. "I don't want to leave you. I love you. I have for a long time now, and I will for a long time yet. But if you don't want me around anymore I will leave. You just have to tell me."

"Leonard, I have already told you that I do not desire your departure. I thought that you had grown tired of our arrangement."

He frowns and shakes his head in confusion. "Why would you think that?" he demands.

I take a deep breath and sink onto the bed beside him. "You did not come home until late last night, and when you did arrive, you intimated that you felt I was preventing you from having fun." He is squeezing my hand now.

"What did I say?" he whispers.

"You said that I was confining you." I said evenly. "That I have forced you to make changes to your life and habits that do not agree with you."

"I said that?" he is pale again.

"You did, though not in as many words. You were rather intoxicated."

"I was drunk as a skunk," he corrects me bluntly. I do not contest his words. After 5.2 minutes he continues. "I didn't mean to mess up our plans. I ran into some people I hadn't seen since medical school. We started talking, catching up, swapping gossip. It got late a lot faster than I meant it to." He pauses again. "I ended up telling them about you, you know." I do not point out that I have no way of knowing this. "I told them that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I can't believe I was so stupid." His head drops into his upturned hands as he releases mine.

"I have asked you to make changes," I say. "But I did not wish to force you to alter who you were. I realize that compromise is often necessary in a relationship. If you wish to continue eating meat, I will not stop you, and I do not desire that you give up your friends. I would prefer that you do not drink alcohol, but I understand that you do not feel as I do about it, and I will not chastise you for it."

"You haven't forced me to do anything, Spock." He looks up at me in shock. "I haven't done anything I didn't want to. I don't mind giving up meat and booze, although I do miss them from time to time. And I haven't given up my friends."

"Why, then, would you say that you had?" I examine him closely.

"I felt guilty as hell last night, and I was drunk. I wasn't in control of myself, which is hardly my favorite state of being. I must have struck out at you to try to assuage my own feelings." He drops his gaze again. "I will understand if you are angry with me."

I consider for what seems an eternity. "I am not angry," I say at last. "I am…hurt."

He gives me a stricken look. "I am sorry! So sorry. I'll do anything I can to try to make it up to you. I know it's not the same, but I'll do it. Anything you want."

"Leonard, I desire only that you stay and that you…that you love me as I love you."

"I do love you, Spock." He hesitates. "I wanted to tell you yesterday, I am willing to bond to you, or marry you, or do nothing more than we already have. I want you to understand that I am committed to you." He blushes. "I just don't seem to be capable of showing it."

"You show me everyday, Leonard." I raise my hand to cup his cheek and am gratified when he turns into it.

"I could show you in a more tangible way," he suggests turning to kiss my palm.

"I would find that acceptable," I assure him as I draw nearer, pressing him down to the mattress. After all, it would be illogical to waste what remains of our preparations.

"Happy anniversary," he whispers between kisses.

Happy anniversary indeed.


End file.
